First impressions.

‘He was, you know, he was a nice guy… but…’
‘But?’
‘But, he wasn’t really my type…’

We all know this line.  You meet a guy or a girl, he/she is attractive, can tell an alright joke, isn’t a complete douche bag and smells pretty nice too.  But there’s something missing.  Something that can’t quite figure out.  He’s got a small scar that you just can’t ignore.  She’s got a tedious laugh.  He’s just a little too tall.  She talks about herself too much.  He doesn’t talk about serious issues enough.  She doesn’t laugh at my jokes.  He’s not you.  She’s marriage material… but I just want to fuck.

We’ve all been there.  We have a spark with a person, we like them, we kiss them, we get their number, we see each other a couple of times, it ends.  It is a cruel world.  Maybe they didn’t like you either.  Maybe they were infatuated with you.  Maybe you were infatuated with them but they thought you were a bit too keen.  Love (and relationships) are a fickle thing.  Over the past few years I’ve met girls that I’ve liked quite a bit but eventually for some reason or another, have fallen into that old trap of it not being what I’m looking for.  If love is a fickle thing, I’m a motherfucking Lord Fickle from Fickleton… sorry, that was a terrible joke.  But let’s step back for a second.  When do you first meet this person?  Was it a bar, a club, a friend’s dinner, a cafe, the back of a bus?  How did you feel when you saw them?  Did you think, ‘this could be fun’ or ‘Oh my, she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen’?  First impressions are supposedly the most important moments to get right.  And I have well and truly fucked a lot of those impressions up.  I’ve been in clubs when I get so overwhelmingly awkward around girls because I can’t have a proper conversation where they can actually hear me.  In the end it all peters out with an awkward shuffle to the other side of the bar to order a bottle of cheap whisky and a hole to die in.  Do we all just have good days and bad days where we are more confident, more socially competent or does fate play a role at all?

The constant complaint that I hear from guys that don’t quite have the face of Ryan Gossling and body of Christiano Ronaldo is that good looking girls don’t like nice guys.  I think this is a complete and utter myth.  It is true that a guy with a bit of mystique and radiating charm will be more attractive to most ladies who are a little over the status quo.  I mean let’s face it, James Dean, Rebel without a cause, he just doesn’t give a shit and it is incredibly attractive even to me.  Who isn’t attracted to confidence and a lack of social insecurity?  Insecurity is bred by those thoughts in your head that girls always go for the bad boys and they always friend zone the nice guys.  Sexual attraction doesn’t always correlate to a consistent physical attraction to a person.  This means that first impressions aren’t necessarily meant to be red hot.  They should be warm or at the very least, there should be a feeling in the stomach.  If I looked a girl and thought, ‘There is a person’, I wouldn’t exactly be running over to her to beg for her phone number.  And that is nothing against the girl at all, she may be a lovely person, brilliant at her job with a wonderful future ahead but night spots are pretty shallow meeting points.

That does head back to that idea that it really depends on the social climate of the situation.  Humidity in the context of getting those tingles when you strike a chord with someone, a certain tone that you reach and the hair starts getting flicked and the subtle touching begins.  You know that you have hit a tropical climate when this happens.  But that might be a fleeting moment before he/she opens her mouth and starts ragging on about how Labor has fucked this once great country and everything cools to a soggy Monday morning in London.  Then there are the tangibles.  You might catch eyes with a striking figure at a library but just feel that the timing is inappropriate and the time of passion and excitement passes and they walk out along with the hopes and dreams of three kids, a white picket fence and a kiss on the cheek every morning until you are 83 years old.

Planning these things, imagining how it will go leads to disappointment.  A constant disappointment.  An utter abomination.  But it takes a lot of discipline to avoid the idea.  Sentimentality exists in even the dullest hearts.  The stories of how other couples meet all seem to be extremely enthralling for the one reminiscing but rather exacerbating for the other parties.  Romance cannot be forced and it can rarely be retold in a fresh and beautiful manner as it all lays in the moment. The moment when eyes meet, sexual tension radiates and the first touch occurs.  It can take months to consummate, or days, or minutes.  Then the question of ‘Will it last?’ arises and a new chapter is born.  Does the story end as they walk out of the door in the morning without staying for breakfast or does it end when you fight it out bitterly in a Family court with tear stained cheeks and memories fading bitterly…. Hold on, I’m not that cynical.  It might end when you hold her hand as you pass on into another dimension as the flashes of life present an a memory reel of elation, euphoria and simple, pure happiness…. To sum up, just like this.

Actually, the song content is kind has a feel of lamentation… still a ripping track.

The opening moments, the first impressions are the most compelling and although the memory will forever last, sometimes the joining of two (or more, no discrimination here) is simply doomed to fail.  You can let it simmer too long or force it too hard or you can get it just right to the point that it seems like fate.  And maybe it is.  Or maybe you were both just at the right stage of wanton desire and coincidently bumped into each other.  I suppose that is fate when you think about it.

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